


Fairytale of New York

by HarrogateBelmont



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Art, F/M, New York City, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrogateBelmont/pseuds/HarrogateBelmont
Summary: Strike and Robin take a brief holiday abroad. What will they discover about themselves along the way?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30
Collections: Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eticatka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eticatka/gifts).



> This fic is for eticatka, whose writing I greatly admire, and I hope she will enjoy this sekrit santa gift. She asked for “Strellacott on a holiday abroad.” I struggled with this - it would make sense for them to go somewhere in continental Europe, but I wanted to write a place I know, and everywhere I know well in Europe seems to have too many cobblestones and hills, which I imagine would be hard on Strike’s leg. So I had this idea, and this is a place that I know, and I went with it. I hope it will be an enjoyable journey!

“Have you ever been to the States?” Strike asked Robin one morning in early February. 

Robin looked up from her computer - she had been scrolling through a target’s Facebook page, taking screenshots of suspicious posts, of which there were many. “What?” she said, shaking her head to reset. “America?”

Strike laughed. “Yes, that’s the place. It’s on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean from us. Used to be colonies...” 

“Oh sod off,” said Robin, although she was grinning. “But no. Never thought about it, really. It’s so… vast. Have you?”

“No,” said Strike. “I’ve been to a lot of places, but never to the states. Always wanted to - a lot of the times my mother left us with Joan and Ted it was to head across the pond to latch on to some sort of tour or band. I was always jealous.”

“Where would you go?” Robin asked. Strike shrugged. “Haven’t thought further than New York, really. I know it’s just another big city, like London. But I’ve always been curious.”

Robin had formed most of her impressions about New York on the television programme  _ Friends _ , and she wondered how accurate that depiction had been. Impressions of tall buildings and traffic and people yelling at each other in harsh accents were all that she could summon. Then she remembered some classic movies and romantic embraces at the top of the Empire State Building, along with several detective and police dramas that she had seen over the years, and her interest deepened.

“Are you thinking about taking a trip?” Robin asked, thinking to herself that a quiet beach in Portugal or France sounded much more relaxing.

Strike turned his computer screen around, to display an advertisement for airfare. “This just popped up on my screen. We could go over the bank holiday in May. It’s not expensive - there’s a package that includes airfare and four nights in Manhattan. Look - “

Robin leaned in to look in more detail at the website. “Are you sure the hotel isn’t too dodgy?” she asked. 

Strike pulled the laptop back to him, typed in a few searches, and then turned it around again to show her multiple online reviews praising the hotel as a decent “budget luxury” hotel. 

Biting her lip, Robin said, “Do you have an ulterior motive, Strike, or is this truly your idea of a relaxing getaway?” She thought for a moment. Matthew had always wanted to go to resorts and luxury hotels. Their honeymoon had been on a lovely, and very boring, beach. Robin reflected that it might not have been boring if Strike had been there to share her bed instead of Matthew. Regardless, there was only so much she could stand lying on a beach chair and reading, and there were only so many sweet cocktails one could manage in a day. Her weekend anniversary getaway with Matthew at the posh Le Manoir aux Quat’ Saisons had been a nightmare. Strike often seemed so much more worldly than she, and he had been to so many places and had so many varied experiences. The thought of visiting someplace with him that was new to them both gave her a small thrill.

Strike was looking a little let down. “Just thought it would be nice to go away somewhere. We’ve never done a holiday together. I’d been trying to think of places, and nothing seemed interesting until this popped up.”

Robin smiled at him, touched that he had been thinking about going away with her. “I think it sounds like a wonderful adventure. It’s a few months away, so we can plan around it. Let’s do it!”


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin arrive in New York.

Robin and Strike disembarked from their flight feeling upbeat and excited. They had left London at lunchtime, and now it was barely mid-afternoon in New York. They had watched several movies, completed a crossword puzzle together, and enjoyed several miniature bottles of wine. Their buoyant mood, however, was soon stalled by the sight of a very long line of people waiting to go through passport control. The cavernous room was dimly lit, and there was little visible signage. They stood, looking around confused, when a woman in a uniform barked at them - “Citizen?” 

“Er,” said Strike. “UK.”

“If you’re not American, go over there,” said the woman, and pointed vaguely to an area across the hall with an equally long line. 

Strike and Robin trudged across the hall, dragging their small roller bags behind them. They stood, sandwiched between a family of five who had been on the plane with them and an elderly couple. The three children in the family group were growing increasingly impatient. Every time the line moved, the mother had to lift the youngest from the floor, where he was insisting on sitting, because his legs were  _ dying. _ “Think I should show him mine?” Strike whispered to Robin, and she giggled and poked him in the ribs. The elderly couple behind them kept up a lively conversation that consisted entirely of reporting to each other how much time had passed, and marveling at the fact that there were so few border agent booths open to check the passports.

Robin reached up to give Strike a kiss. “Remember, this is the start of our holiday,” she said. People with some sort of special passport status were streaming past them, stepping up to kiosks where they scanned their fingerprints and proceeded. Eventually, Strike pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and turned it on. They had purchased a plan that would allow their phones to work in the states, and he wondered if it was true. 

“No cell phones!” boomed a voice. Strike looked around. He couldn’t tell if the reprimand had been directed at him, but he sheepishly returned the phone to his pocket. 

“Very welcoming country, isn’t it?” said Robin. 

“90 minutes, at least,” said the elderly man behind them. 

“I counted 300 people ahead of us,” said his wife.

“Only three gate agents,” said the man.

Strike rolled his eyes. “Do you think they’d let us through faster if I took off my leg?”

“Doubt it,” said Robin, indicating a woman in a wheelchair, who was waiting forlornly near the front. “I was watching over there. Her family is in line, and they’re making her wait until the rest of the family gets to the front.”

The estimation of the elderly gentleman turned out to be correct. After an hour and a half, Strike and Robin reached the front of the line, answered a number of questions about their intentions in visiting the United States, and exited into the baggage claim area. Since they had not checked any luggage, they saved a small amount of time, although they still had to have some papers checked by a customs agent, before exiting into the main area of the airport.

A blast of warm air hit them as they left the airport. Robin stopped for a moment and shrugged off the cardigan she had been wearing on the plane. “Warm, isn’t it, for early May?”

“Taxi?” asked Strike. Robin, who had printed several pages worth of instructions about the best way to travel from JFK to Manhattan using public transportation, nodded with relief. The two of them collapsed into a car that smelled vaguely of sweat, but was almost too cool from the air-conditioning, and the driver told them that it was just the beginning of rush hour and could take an hour to get to their hotel. Sighing again, Strike pulled his phone back out of his pocket and turned it on. 

“Has it got service?” asked Robin, turning on her phone as well. 

“Seems like it,” said Strike. “Here, I’ll text you.” Robin’s phone pinged.

**_Welcome to America, Cx_ **

**_It certainly is lovely_** **_Rx_**

The view outside the window was not unpleasant, but it was a little disappointing. Robin had been imagining that the Manhattan skyline would be immediately visible. She realized that this was ridiculous, and based on no real knowledge, as Heathrow was many miles from the city of London. The area surrounding the airport seemed suburban and not very congested, although once they had been driving for about fifteen minutes, the traffic increased considerably. Robin drew herself as close to Strike as she could while still wearing her seatbelt, and clasped his hand in hers. 

It was a sunny day, and finally, they could see the Manhattan skyline spread out in front of them, looking almost like a painting. Then they entered a tunnel, and emerged on the other side in a different world. Suddenly, tall buildings surrounded them on all sides. The taxi continued across several wide avenues, and the grid of the city plan became apparent. Strike, who had visited many foreign cities in his life, mostly in Europe and the Middle East, had not expected New York to feel so modern. Everything seemed larger than life. There were people everywhere. The taxi now had to stop at almost every intersection, and throngs of people ran across the street in front of the cars, everyone looking extremely hurried and busy. 

The taxi pulled to a stop outside of their Holiday Inn, and Robin and Strike stepped out to inhale the scent of Manhattan on a spring afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now at the stage of the pandemic where I am nostalgic for anything related to travel, even the unpleasant parts. And, frankly, landing at any of the New York airports from overseas is unpleasant. If you are a US citizen and can spring the $ for the Global Entry privilege, I highly recommend it. This story takes place at JFK, which I have less experience with - Newark is my regular airport, but I can't imagine they're much different, especially if this John Mulaney SNL skit is anything to go by: [Airport Sushi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6d7Vk_qaiB8).


	3. The City at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin arrive in Manhattan and explore Times Square and visit the Empire State Building.

“It’s clean,” said Robin, humor in her eyes, as they entered the room that was to be their home for the next four nights. 

The room was, in fact, very clean, and the enormous bed in it looked plush and welcoming. The problem was, the bed took up almost the entire space. While both of them, Strike especially, were used to small spaces, they were also used to maximizing the space with simple furnishings. There was a desk, a dresser, and a small closet, in addition to the bathroom, but the actual floor space was limited.

“Very convenient for me!” said Strike enthusiastically. “Not a long hop from the bed to the toilet.”

“We won’t be spending much time in here, anyway,” said Robin, placing her suitcase on the small desk. 

“We won’t?” asked Strike, flopping onto the bed and wiggling his eyebrows at her. “This bed is so big! I can really stretch out on it, look!” He put his arms behind his head, and flexed his foot. 

“Poor giant, stuck living in a country where everything is too small for him.” She shook her shirt. “I could really use a shower,” she said, opening her suitcase. “And a change of clothes. I’m starting to get tired.”

“Don’t succumb!” said Strike. “We need to stay awake until at least nine or ten tonight to beat the jetlag. But I could use a shower as well. You could help hold me up in the shower?”

“And then?”

“And then we could dry off on the bed.” Strike rolled onto his side, head propped on his elbow. “We’ve just been granted six extra hours of daytime - I think? Not sure about the maths, really. Anyway, let’s make the most of it.”

~*~

They exited the hotel an hour later, showered, relaxed, and very hungry. The hotel boasted a rustic restaurant with an impressive beer selection, but Robin and Strike decided to stroll for a bit. Robin inhaled deeply and wrinkled her nose. “What  _ is _ that smell?” she asked. 

Strike looked around and assessed the area. “Garbage and burnt food?” he answered. “Perhaps a touch of automobile exhaust?” It seemed accurate and not unpleasant, in fact, it seemed to fit in with the look of the surroundings. A steady stream of cars drove past them as they walked past an odd assortment of shops, some of which seemed to be chains, and others small convenience stores or independent markets. They turned on to Broadway, and marveled at how many of the stores seemed to be selling an odd assortment of tourist gifts and electronics.

“How’s the leg?” Robin asked. The distance between the avenues that ran north and south through the grid was much further than they appeared on the map. 

“It’s good,” said Strike. “Honestly, one reason I wanted to come here instead of some European city was that I was sure there would be better sidewalks and fewer cobblestones. Look - I think we must be getting close to Times Square.”

The expression on Strike’s face was gleeful. Looking around, Robin was reminded of Piccadilly, with its large electronic billboards and throngs of people. Except that the buildings around them were much taller. The smell of roasting peanuts wafted towards them, and a pang in Robin’s stomach reminded her that it had been hours since she had picked at the meal on the airplane.

“Food?” she asked Strike, wondering how they were going to choose a place to eat. She had detailed notes and restaurant plans for the remainder of their vacation, but had not planned for the day of their arrival. They walked through Times Square slowly and continued up Seventh Avenue. An enormous guitar, several stories high, indicated the Hard Rock Cafe. Strike stopped just past it, in front of a place called “Bubba Gump.” He looked at the menu and turned to Robin. “American cuisine - ‘Southern cooking,’ whatever that is. Want to try?”

Robin rolled her eyes at him. “They’ve just opened one of these in London!” she said. “We could eat this food at home.”

“But wouldn’t it be more fun to eat it in the States?” Strike asked. “I’m hungry. Haven’t you ever seen  _ Forrest Gump?” _

“You have?” Robin asked.

“Sure, it was on rotation when I was in Army training. Bubba died in Vietnam. Let’s give it a try.”

Consoling herself that the other restaurants on her list were more authentic and intimate, and giving in to her growling stomach, Robin consented and was surprised to find that the meal was actually delicious. Strike devoured an impressive amount of food, and as they sat and digested, they planned the rest of their evening. Robin pulled her neatly-organized itinerary out of her bag and reviewed it. 

“I could do with a walk after this meal,” she said. “The Empire State Building is about twenty minutes away, and if we go tonight, then we’ll have more free time on our last day. We could see the city lights if we manage to go up after dark.”

Strike agreed, and in the twilight, they strolled back through Times Square, across to Bryant Park, and eventually ended up on Fifth Avenue. At the Empire State Building, they paid an exorbitant fee for tickets, but there was not a long wait to ride up to the 86th floor observation deck. They followed the signs to the outside, and the air this high was cooler and breezier than it had been below. The New York scent was gone, and there were very few people milling about. As they walked slowly around, they could see the sun setting over the Hudson River. 

They stopped walking, and turned to take in the view. Robin walked right up to the wall, and noticed that Strike seemed disinclined to join her, despite the substantial protective fencing. Something clicked in her brain, and she remembered how Strike had been uninterested in her view outside of the plane window during take-off and landing.

“Cormoran,” Robin said, returning to him and snaking her arm around his waist. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Mmmm? Romantic,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to him. 

“You are!” said Robin, squeezing him. “It’s okay. I won’t tell. It  _ is  _ romantic, isn’t it?” Robin sighed and took in the view, conscious of the heat of Strike’s body shielding her from the chill and wind. 

Strike turned his head towards hers and met her lips in a kiss. For a few minutes, they forgot that they were in a public space, that there were any other people in the world. Eventually, the sound of people walking past them broke the spell, and they pulled apart.

“Robin.” Strike’s voice was soft. “You know that - “ He looked across at the river - the sun was now entirely set, and lights were starting to blink on across the city. “You know -” He seemed unable to find words to express himself.

Robin’s heart flipped. She knew what he wanted to say; she could see the truth in his eyes, and even she couldn’t name the feeling that she had, sometimes, that they had always been together, that they had been together before. She didn’t really believe in past lives, but with Strike she would sometimes have flashes of the two of them in places or situations that she knew they had not truly experienced. So she kissed him again, and said, “I know.”

Strike nodded, and kissed her again. “I think I’m actually starting to feel tired,” he said, pulling back and yawing.

“By the time we make it back to the hotel, it’ll be almost 9, and we will have reached your jetlag goal for the day.” Robin pulled at his hand. “But let’s take one more turn around the building, just to have the complete experience.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am even nostalgic for the smells of New York! And I've never eaten at a Bubba Gump. But I am also nostalgic for New Orleans, so...


	4. Tourists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "montage" chapter. Overlay with your favorite music. Strike chooses [Frank's Wild Years](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBzBwYhHpqLIp7zStJn_OzlqUOWUWaRSX) and Robin chooses [I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wXjqlidj10).

Strike and Robin spent the next few days enjoying the sites, sounds, and even the smells of New York. The itinerary that Robin had developed had been ambitious, but entertaining. They had only received one message from the office - something benign on Friday that they had answered with ease. Strike had asked, with boyish pleading in his eyes, if they could visit the Intrepid Sea, Air, and Space Museum, which featured an aircraft carrier, a submarine, and a number of military-themed exhibits. Robin found it all fascinating as well. 

Robin insisted on roaming through Greenwich Village and the area around Washington Square Park, finding that she enjoyed the haphazard streets and older feel of that part of the city. They spent over an hour in the Strand bookstore, weaving their way through the stacks and browsing the cluttered shelves, finally allowing each other one book to take back with them. They ate Dim Sum in Chinatown and it took them several false starts and the assistance of another couple to understand how to flag down the staff with the carts of steaming dumplings and exotic dishes. 

They spent a glorious spring afternoon in Central Park. They stopped in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and, while initially overwhelmed by the size and diversity of the collections, decided to focus on a few of their favorites. Robin chose the Impressionists, lingering particularly long over the Degas. Strike, who had made a joke about ballerinas as they approached, had changed his tune when he saw  _ Woman Having Her Hair Combed _ , a large pastel featuring a nude with brilliant red-gold hair. Robin felt herself blushing a bit as they looked at it; recognizing the resemblance to herself, and knowing what Strike was thinking as he slipped his arm around her. 

Strike had chosen Edward Hopper, and to his delight the one piece on display in the Museum was a painting of a lighthouse in Maine. “It reminds me of St. Mawes,” he told Robin. “It’s often cloudy, especially in the winter, but when you get a fine day - the sky looks just like that.” 

They meandered their way back towards the main lobby, and a gallery with more modern artworks and Robin tugged at Strike’s arm. “Can we walk through here. I like to look at the Pollocks.”

“Pollocks bollocks,” joked Strike, rolling his eyes. “Fine. We can look at the scribbles.”

“Wait and see,” said Robin. “You’d be surprised. I took an art history class at uni. It’s not about how it’s done. It’s about how you feel when you look at it.”

She stopped in front of a rather severe and chaotic painting in browns and blacks and greys with a smattering of brighter white throughout. Robin stopped and ran her eyes across it, choosing a small section near the top, where several drops of paint had fallen, and they reminded her of raindrops in London. She allowed her mind to wander for a moment. Then she turned to look at Strike, who had not spoken nor made any other jokes, and saw that he had a fierce expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked. 

“It’s strange,” he said, after a moment. “It reminds me of my mother.”

“It’s not strange,” said Robin, taking his hand. “Art exists to help us process feelings. You never know what will cause a reaction.” 

Strike shrugged, and Robin was surprised to see him run a finger quickly under his eye, as if wiping away a tear. 

“I think that’s what her mind was like,” he said, after a moment. “Inside. I mean.”

Robin nodded. She had never known Leda Strike - had only gained impressions of her from the various people who had known her. But Robin suspected that Strike’s assessment was very accurate.

“Let’s go and enjoy the outside,” said Strike, finally turning from the painting. “I’m hungry, and I promise never to insult Pollock again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @meansovermotive for giving me the "Pollock bollocks" line! And these are the images: [Woman Having Her Hair Combed](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436173), [The Lighthouse at Two Lights](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/489258), and [Autumn Rhythm #30](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/488978)


	5. The Gramercy Park Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike takes Robin on a pilgrimage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! It's pretty much all fluff from this point on.

On the morning of their last day in New York, Strike and Robin rose early. Strike had insisted that they’d be better off trying to stick to London time, in order to make their return easier. They spent a leisurely hour in the big bed, making love and trying to savor what they knew would be their last opportunity to relax for quite some time. In fact, Robin was scheduled to start surveillance at three the following afternoon, in London.

Their plane was not due to depart until late that evening, so they checked out of their hotel and left their luggage at the desk to pick up later. Because they had visited the Empire State Building on their first night, their itinerary was flexible, and they both felt that they had seen quite enough of the attractions to meander aimlessly for a while. Strike had requested a more leisurely itinerary on this day, anyway, before they had even left London. They walked over to Broadway, and Strike led the way south, and they stopped along the way for a coffee and bagel to take away. Both had been surprised and amused the first time they’d asked for a “regular” coffee and received theirs already prepared with milk and copious amounts of sugar. It was too sweet for Robin, who had learned to ask for no sugar, but Strike had taken to their new drink.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” Robin asked, as they walked. The weather was beautiful - sunny and not as warm as it had been on the day of their arrival, and despite the amount of walking and standing they’d done in the last few days, Strike seemed unconcerned about his leg. But Robin wondered if he was pushing it too much. They were already at Madison Square Park, and Strike seemed determined to keep walking. She could tell he had a destination in mind.

“Yep,” said Strike shortly. They exited the park on 23rd Street and walked down several wealthy and neatly-maintained blocks to Lexington Avenue. Strike came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a large hotel. Strike stood, staring at the entrance, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What is this?” Robin asked, taking his hand. 

“This is it,” said Strike. “The Gramercy Park Hotel. The scene of the crime, in a manner of speaking.” 

Strike patted his pocket absently, searching for his cigarettes. He had quit, cold turkey, two months earlier, but was continuing to yearn for them, especially during times of stress.

Realization hit Robin immediately. “This is where…?” 

“Where my mother attended a party with Rokeby. Yes.”

“Did you know this was the place?”

Strike nodded. “It was in the newspaper, when the paternity case became public. Spent a day at the library a few weeks ago looking through old papers. And I was able to get a copy of the legal proceedings. It’s in there too. Even the date.” He grinned ruefully. “Not many people can celebrate their date of conception with such certainty. Mark your calendar for March 2. Not sure if cake is appropriate.”

Robin laughed. “Well, you’re not that special. I know I can celebrate in January, and with a little prodding, my parents can probably give me an exact date.” 

“Forgot about that, Venetia,” said Strike. Then he grew serious. “I even know which suite. But I don’t think this pilgrimage needs to extend that far. I just wanted to see it.”

He turned to Robin. “Do you remember our conversation last year, after I accidentally hit you in the face?”

“Ironically, at the American Bar. Yes,” said Robin. Then, more softly. “I remember, of course. That was when you told me I was your best friend.”

“Yeah,” said Strike. “I wanted to tell you more, that night.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Robin. “I don’t know if I would have wanted to hear it with two black eyes.”

“I didn’t even notice them - I always think you look beautiful.” 

Robin felt her face grow warm. Even though it had been months, more than half a year, since they had finally revealed their true feelings for each other, it still shocked her that there was a person in the world who cherished her like this.

Strike put a hand up to her cheek. “Do you remember when we were talking about kids, and I said I didn’t want any, because I’d been an accident?” Robin nodded.

“And do you remember that you - didn’t agree with my assessment?”

“I thought it was self-indulgent. The circumstances of your conception don’t matter - it doesn’t make you less of a person. It doesn’t stop you from living in the world and being part of people’s lives, and making a difference. I still feel that way.” 

“Well,” said Strike. “I understand that now.” He looked up at the hotel building. “Somewhere in that building, more than 40 years ago, something happened. Just like it happens all over the world, every minute. Even the most wanted child is the result of chance. I should be - “ He paused, and Robin was surprised to see that his eyes were glistening. “I should be grateful really.” 

_I’m_ grateful,” said Robin, pulling him into an embrace. Strike wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. 

“I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling responsible for other people’s well-being,” said Strike. “First, my mother. I knew from early on that she needed help. Then it was Charlotte - always feeling like she was one step away from the edge and that somehow I needed to hang around. But I never felt like those people would do the same for me. Until now.”

Robin, whose arms were around Strike’s shoulders, moved her hands idly through the curls at the back of his neck. Her heart was full. “I would do anything for you,” Robin said quietly. She rested her head on his shoulder, and heard him say, softly, “I know. You’re my everything, Robin.” 

They stood for a moment, enjoying each other’s warmth. A car pulled up to the hotel and the driver began unloading luggage from the boot while a wealthy-looking couple emerged. Robin released her hold on Strike and said, “Where next? Do you have an idea?”

“I do,” said Strike. “Let’s take the subway, don’t want to overdo it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case people are wondering, we don't actually know where Leda and Jonny Rokeby had their tryst. We know it was at a party in New York. The Gramercy became a sort of rock-n-roll hot spot in the 1970s - David Bowie was the first rock star to stay there in 1973, and Debbie Harry even lived there for a while, so I just decided to use it.


	6. 47th Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike has one more stop he wants to make in New York.

Robin and Strike walked from the Gramercy Park Hotel towards the 23rd Street Station, stopping to snap photographs in front of the triangular Flatiron building, and then descended into the subway. Robin liked the rough edges of the New York stations, so different from the well-lit and pristine Tube stations in London. The tile lining the walls of this particular station was peppered with whimsical hats floating just at the right height to look as though they belonged to the person standing under them. Robin coerced Strike to stand under a green bowler, and snapped a photograph with her phone.

They emerged about twenty minutes later at Rockefeller Center. Strike guided Robin onto 47th Street, and after a few steps, he stopped, pulling Robin off to the side, so that they weren’t standing in the flow of foot traffic. 

“What’s up?” she asked, looking at Strike. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something sparkle, and turning her head, she saw a shop window filled with rows of glittering diamond jewelry.

Strike took her hands in his. He seemed nervous, and squeezed her hands tightly, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking. Or, no, I mean, I wanted to  _ ask _ if - if you might be interested in buying a ring?”

Robin’s immediate reaction was self-effacing. She had been about to say something along the lines of “I don’t really wear a lot of jewelry,” and her first thought had been that Strike might be trying to provide her with another gift, like the perfume he’d bought her on her birthday, and that he’d been inspired by the opal necklace that her parents had given her. But something in the way he was looking at her, expectantly, made her check herself. And he had specifically mentioned a  _ ring.  _ Robin felt a thrill that went all the way from her head to her toes. Finally, she managed, “What kind of ring, Cormoran?”

Biting his lip, Strike looked away for a moment, as if composing himself. “An - engagement ring?” He uttered this almost as a question, the look on his face a little pleading, and a little unsure. As much as she tried not to, Robin’s mind returned to the first time someone had broached this topic with her. Robin wondered, based on the fact that Strike had no ring already purchased, if this was an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment idea.

They had only been in a romantic relationship for seven months. Words from the ridiculous dating book that her cousin, Katie, had given her, floated into her consciousness.  _ If, after one year, there is no proposal, it’s time to move on.  _ Then she remembered her birthday, and Strike’s desire to find her a gift that she liked, but not wanting to assume that he knew best. How he had asked for her help in selecting perfume, because they were friends, partners, and he wanted to make sure that she had full involvement in the process. And how he had helped break the tie between her two favorites, so that the gift became complete, a joint venture, like everything in their lives. 

She didn’t want to be with anyone else. In fact, she didn’t think she  _ could  _ be with anyone else. Robin had a feeling that after Strike, there would be no moving on. She had a moment of empathy for Charlotte, Strike’s ex. Despite her unhinged and destructive behavior, Robin now understood how losing Strike could seem like the end of the world.

It felt like she had waited a very long time before answering, but in reality, these thoughts flitted by in an instant. She felt the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she pulled Strike close, wrapping his arms around her and moving hers up to link around her neck. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.” 

Strike broke into a relieved grin. “Really?” he asked, his voice barely audible. 

Robin answered with a kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that the [Diamond District](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/47th_Street_\(Manhattan\)) is _really_ the best place to buy a simple engagement ring, especially for tourists. But I also think it seems like a very touristy thing to do.


	7. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin plan for their future.

“So how’d you think that went?” Strike asked Robin. They were settling into their seats on the airplane, preparing to try to manage a few hours of sleep before landing in London.

“What, the trip in general?” Robin looked over at Strike, and then down at the ring sparkling on her finger. It was simple, a single round diamond set in a band with an old-fashioned pattern. The shopkeeper had called it a “heirloom” look with a “milgrain” band. Robin thought it looked classic, and, as she pointed out to Strike, it was also not so showy that it would call attention during surveillance or undercover jobs. She had narrowed it down to three, and Strike and selected this one as his favorite, which pleased her, because it had really been her favorite as well. It had also been the most expensive, however, Robin noted that it had actually cost less than the green Cavalli dress that Strike had bought her after they had solved their first case together. Strike was also wearing a ring - the shopkeeper had done a good job of selling them on the fashion of male engagement rings, and they happened to have a band that matched Robin’s. They’d engraved them as well, although you’d need a magnifying glass to see it. One word on each:  _ Strellacott. _

“Yeah,” said Strike. “I mean, obviously,” he took her hand in his, “obviously there were some memorable moments, but I just meant - did you like traveling with me?”

Robin was surprised at the question, but considered it for a moment. “Yes, I do,” she said. “You’re easy to travel with, except when going through security,” she added with a grin. All things considered, I had a lovely time. I should ask you the same. I know I was a little over-prepared at times.”

“Who doesn’t love a good itinerary?” asked Strike. “I admit that I thought you might have over-scheduled us, and my plan was to be a little more spontaneous. But,” he raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there, “we really did see so many things in such a short time, and I liked not always having to worry about where we were going to eat.”

Robin snorted. “I knew the food would be your favorite part.” In fact, they had purchased a second backpack to bring on the plane, which Strike had filled with his new favorite snacks: Butterfingers and Reese's Pieces, two confections that were not easily obtainable in the UK. 

“I liked the food, but it wasn’t my favorite part,” said Strike, slowly turning the ring on her finger around. Then, quietly, “I still can’t believe it.”

“Mmmm,” said Robin, “We’ll have to start planning.” She shifted in her seat to face him more fully. “But Cormoran, you don’t want anything big, do you?”

“What, like your last wedding?” Strike teased. Robin rolled her eyes. “I’d marry you on paper tomorrow if you want,” he said. “But I suppose people will want some sort of ceremony. Maybe we could book a restaurant or something?” Strike thought back to the wedding of a superior in the army that he had attended. It had been a second marriage for both, and they had opted for a low-scale, but lovely ceremony and reception of around 30 people in a restaurant. Strike had been invited out of courtesy of being the assistant at the time, but he had enjoyed the informal nature of the event, and the true cheer and happiness of the friends and family gathering to share the day. 

“Perfect,” said Robin. “Maybe between our birthdays, if we can manage it?”

“What about a honeymoon?” asked Strike. “Since we enjoy traveling together so much.” 

“We might have to wait a bit, see what the schedule’s like at work,” said Robin. “Also, we need to sort out someplace to live. Haven’t actually tested that one yet.”

“Don’t think it’ll be a problem,” said Strike. “We can ask Pat to find us a place to live - we have to start her looking at office space anyway.” He grinned. “I think we need to take a pilgrimage to Venice for our honeymoon. We’ve seen my place of conception, now how about yours?” 

Robin furrowed her brow, but Strike squeezed her hand. “I know what you’re thinking, but the parts that aren’t water are actually supposed to be fairly navigable.”

The PA system on the airplane buzzed, and the steward announced that they were next in line for takeoff. Strike squeezed Robin’s hand a bit harder, and she leaned forward and kissed him.

The plane jolted forward, and they broke apart. Robin noticed that Strike’s hand had gone a bit clammy.

“Nervous?” she asked, remembering the discovery she had made at the top of the Empire State Building.

“I’d be less nervous if you were the pilot. Fancy learning how to fly a plane?”

Robin laughed. “Maybe,” she said. “But think of it this way - we’re together right now. If something happens, at least it happens to both of us.”

The noise of the engines grew louder, as the plane increased its speed.

Strike reached out one of his hands and cupped her cheek with it. “True,” he said. “But we’ve only just begun. I wouldn't want it to end so soon."  


And the plane lifted off the ground, smoothly, as if on an invisible path leading into the clouds, and the two of them relaxed, looking ahead to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this story, I had no idea it would end up here! But I hope you enjoyed it, especially eticatka, to whom this is dedicated. Happy 2021! Let’s hope it’s a good one. :)


End file.
